


Whatever Gets You Through the Night

by Telesilla



Series: Take a Chance on Me [11]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Baseball, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, San Francisco Giants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Buster's still hyped from the game, still going over what he saw from the St. Louis hitters tonight. He knows he needs to stop, needs to leave his worries in the truck when they get home because Maddy doesn't to talk about game plans the night before a start. He doesn't want to talk about baseball at all before a game.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever Gets You Through the Night

_October 15, 2014_

 

"I wannna go to Mexico," Madison says as they drive home.

"What?" Buster's still hyped from the game, still going over what he saw from the St. Louis hitters tonight. He knows he needs to stop, needs to leave his worries in the truck when they get home because Maddy doesn't to talk about game plans the night before a start. He doesn't want to talk about baseball at all before a game.

"Mexico. Maybe in late November when we've done the family thing."

"What brought that on?"

"The other morning when we got home from DC. I...."

When it's clear Madison's not finishing his sentence, Buster looks over at him. In the dim light of a San Francisco night, he can't see the blush, but the set of Madison's face gives him away.

"You?"

"Wanted to walk on the beach," Madison mumbles, his accent thicker than usual. "Ya know, with you."

Buster's about to deliver some kind of sarcastic putdown, maybe call Madison a big ol softy, but it dies in his throat as he thinks about what Madison said. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah to Mexico. Yeah to wishing we could walk on the beach like normal people."

Madison glances over at him. "C'mon," he says. "Let's drive up the coast to one of those little beaches Timmy's always talking about."

"Are you kidding? You start...."

"Shut up. I know I start tomorrow, okay? Not like I'm gonna forget it."

Again, the words Buster wants to say turn into something else. "Remember that time we played the Quakes?"

"When we drove up all little those twisty those roads tryin' to find a view of LA?"

"Yeah." It's Buster's turn to blush. "When we got up there...fuck, Maddy. I wanted to kiss you so bad." Before Madison can answer, Buster gestures at the GPS. "Find a route to the Golden Gate from here."

Once they reach the bridge, Buster puts on the playlist that mixes Madison's Southern Rock with Buster's more traditional Country. They don't talk, but it's a comfortable silence; their silences have always been comfortable. The traffic's light and so it only takes an hour or so before they reach a little turnoff that has a beach sign. When they reach the parking lot, there's a sign saying the beach closes at sundown.

"You wanna risk it?" Buster says.

"What's to risk?"

"Don't be stupid," Buster says. "We get the wrong ranger giving us a ticket, we could get outed."

"Fuck it," Madison says. "We drove all the way here."

It's not like that warm, dry night in San Bernardino when they had all of LA spread out in front of them, the lights looking like the sky and land had switched places. Like they were above the stars somehow. 

When Buster parks the truck, the view is pretty much the opposite. It's foggy and what there is of the moon is only a dim blob of light in the fog. And, they discover when they get out of the truck, it's fucking freezing. But here, Buster can reach over and take Madison's hand as they walk down the stairs to the beach, so it's pretty much a hundred times better. 

"It's stupid because we play right there on the Cove, but I forget it's an ocean," Madison says once they reach the firm, damp sand near the water. "Like, most of the time I forget there's a beach so close." 

"Yeah," Buster says. "I know what you mean."

"Lemme lean on you for a sec," Madison says. For a moment Buster thinks Maddy's speaking metaphorically, but no, Madison's hand clamps down on his shoulder.

"What?" Then, when it becomes obvious Madison's taking his boots off, Buster stares at him. "Dude, it's not some beach in the South. It's fucking cold."

Madison ignores him and starts rolling up the legs of his jeans once his boots are off.

"You're fucking crazy," Buster says. But he's bending down to unlace his shoes. 

The water is cold enough to take Buster's breath away, but it clears his head of any remnants of his baseball worries.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Madison's saying as he walks a little further out.

"Told you so, ya dumbass."

Buster should probably have seen it coming, but he's totally unprepared when Madison kicks a big spray of water his way. "You dick!" Buster yells, kicking water back.

It's on after that; they kick water and bend down and splash each other, trash talking all the while. It goes on long enough that Buster's feet are getting numb and he's trying to think of a way to stop that won't make him the loser. They've gone further into the surf than they knew and suddenly a wave hits them, drenching both of them to mid-thigh.

"Fuck," Buster yells. "God-fucking-damnit!"

"Shit," Madison's yelling at the same time.

They continue to swear as they run back to the safety of the sand above the waterline. "I'm so fucking cold," Buster says. "This is all your fucking fault."

"You didn't have to splash back."

Buster stares at Madsion and then thinks, fuck it, and tackles him. If Madison had been ready for it, Buster might not have budged him. As it is, Madison goes down on his ass with Buster on top of him. "All," Buster says, leaning down to brush his mouth across Madison's lips. "Your fault."

"Yeah?" Madison asks, and Buster can feel the warm of his breath. 

When Madison's hands slide down Buster's sides to grab his hips, Buster leans in and kisses him--a real kiss this time. Normally they'd fight a little, trading the lead back and forth, but right now, it seems Maddy's content to let Buster do the kissing. Buster takes advantage, kissing Madison deep and hard and dirty.

Before long, Madison's squirming under him and Buster can feel his dick, hard against Buster's thigh. Buster's hard too and he bites Madison's lip and starts rubbing off on Madidon's hip. 

"Since we're wet already," he says when he pulls back from the kiss. 

"Always liked the way you think." 

"Yeah?" Buster asks. He thinks about reaching down and getting their pants undone, but Maddy's wearing that stupid belt that Buster has all kinds of trouble with. So he just wriggles on top of Madison until their dicks are right up against each other. It hurts a little--both of them are wearing button fly jeans--but finally, with a little squirming on Madison's part, they've got it.

"Yeah," Madison says, grinding up against Buster. "Yeah, Buster."

"Fuck yeah...." Buster bends down and starts kissing Madison again. Buster's more into humping Madison than kissing; the kiss is sloppy and their teeth click together a couple time and fuck...it's fucking perfect.

After a couple of breathless minutes, Buster pushes himself up on one hand. Madison's shirt has snaps instead of buttons and it's easy enough to pull it open. Buster runs his hand over the soft cotton of Madison's t-shirt until he finds one of Madison's nipples. It's hard and Madison gasps and shoves his hips up hard when Buster rubs a thumb over it. Buster's a little worried that he's hurting Madison--his own nipples get sensitive when it's cold--but no, Maddy's moaning loudly under him.

"C'mon, babe," Madison growls. Buster's not sure how long they've been here, but he's pretty close and he gets closer when Madison grips his hips hard. "God...fuck, Buster...so good...c'mon...."

"Fuck," Buster moans. His hand goes slack and rests on Madison's chest as Buster rubs up against Madison one more time and comes. "Fuck...."

Before he's even come down from it, Madison's rolling them over. He straddles Buster and when Buster looks up, in the dim light Madison looks like he goes on forever. "Tell me what you want, Maddy."

"Your hand," Madison says, grabbing Buster's wrist and pulls his hand down. "Yeah...like that...." he groans as Buster rubs the heel of his hand against the bulge of Madison's dick. "Harder...yeah, babe...yeah...."

It doesn't take long before Madison shoves hard against Buster's hand with a sharp moan. 

"Fuck," Madison says, panting as he leans over Buster. "You're so fucking...." He kisses Buster hard instead of finishing his sentence and, as Madison's teeth close on his lower lip, Buster wishes he could get hard again. 

It feels like they kiss forever--trading it back and forth--before Madison finally goes up on one hand. "I'm fucking freezing; you're stealin' all my heat."

"Yeah well, I feel kinda gross and sticky."

It gets worse as they go back to the truck. Buster's jeans rubbing against his legs as they dry and his underwear is all cold and clammy. 

"I got sweats in the back," Madison says.

"I've got," Buster says, ducking when Madison aims a slap at the back of his head. 

Buster has sweats too and they both change quickly. "Because this would be the right time for a ranger to show up," Buster says.

"Any ranger comes by now, he's gonna be blinded by your bare ass."

"Yeah because yours doesn't glow in the dark."

Once they're in the car, Buster turns the heater up high and changes the playlist for something quieter and a little softer. Madison glances over at him and grins before putting his hand on Buster's thigh.

He keeps it there all the way home. Again they don't talk much, and again, they don't need to. It's like time doesn't exist here in the cab of Buster's truck; all that's important is the comforting weight of Madison's hand on his thigh and the love song on the radio. 

The sense of timelessness stays with him all through the drive and even as they shower together in the big old clawfoot tub. They don't bother with real food--dinner is left over Chinese and the last of a batch of banana pudding Buster made after they got back from St. Louis.

No sports TV is another one of Madison's pregame rules and Buster's just fine with that. Instead, they settle into bed and play stupid games on their iPads while Ram Tough does her best to distract them. When they're both sitting up in bed, she can never decide who she wants attention from and so she goes from one of them to the other, shoving her face in between them and their iPads.

Later, when the light's out and they're spooning just before sleep, Madison kisses the back of Buster's neck. "It'll be okay, no matter what happens tomorrow."

Buster waits for the crushing weight of responsibility to drop down on him, but it doesn't. Instead, he leans back into Madison's broad chest. "Yeah," he says. "It will. And then, later on, we'll go down to Mexico and find us a warmer beach."

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> It's possible I wrote this to deal with my own pregame jitters. Just possible.


End file.
